Read Online Lessons In Stalking: Adjusting to Life With Cats by Dena Harris - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dena Harris
Ads: Link
window blinds against the glass. The bedroom vibrates with the reverberations.
After a few minutes of the wooden blind death rattle, the kitten appears to have given up. There is silence. We both relax and start to drift back into real sleep.
“Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.” She’s back, having located her jingle ball and nudged it into our bedroom. She is now under our bed, racing in circles as she chases it around.
“Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.”
I bite my lip and taste the sweat there. She’s good.
The noise of the jingle ball has brought the cat on the run. She’s constantly afraid we’re playing with the kitten and forgetting to include her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the kitten playing solo and two lumps still tucked 117 in bed. Unfortunately, seeing us tucked in and comfortable reminds her she’s hungry too, and the cats decide to doubleteam us.
The cat takes over jingle ball duties (ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching), while the kitten hops back up to the blinds. (Rattle rattle. Rattle rattle.)
The bedroom is a cacophony of noise: Ka-ching, rattlerattle, ka-ching, rattle rattle. Ka-ching, rattle, ka-ching, rattle.
I can’t stand it any more. “Shut up!” I yell at the cats.
My husband’s voice comes muffled from under the covers.
“You spoke first. You lose. Go feed them so I can get some sleep.”
I rip the covers off him. I am not in the best of humor in the mornings, especially at five AM.
“You were the one who sat up and put the kitten on the floor so technically you were awake first and you should be the one to get up.”
“If you heard me put the kitten on the floor that means you were awake and just pretending to be asleep, which is a terrible thing to do, so you should be the one to get up.”
“No, you.”
“No, you.”
“Mrow-rowr!!” wail both cats. They pick up the pace.
Ka-ching-rattle, ka-ching-rattle.
I hold my hands over my ears and glare at my husband.
“Get up.”
He pulls the covers up and rolls over. “Eat dirt.”
I lay back down. “If you’re not getting up, I’m not getting up.”
We lie in bed and glare at the ceiling. There is no hope of either of us getting any more sleep.
I turn my head and look at my husband. “Together on the count of three?”
He nods.
“One…”
We roll the covers back.
“Two…”
We both put a foot on the floor and look suspiciously at one another.
“Three!” He stands up and I fling myself back into bed.
Wife - 2, Husband – 0.
An hour later guilt overtakes me and I pad out to the kitchen where he is sitting and put my arms around him, kissing the top of his head.
“How about if I promise to be the one to get up and feed the cats tomorrow?” I ask.
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
I sigh. He’s right. My intentions are good, but when it’s 5 AM and cold and dark outside the warmth of the bed, I know I will once again feign death in the hopes he’ll get up first. And he’ll do the same.
But we are united on one front.
The cats are comatose on the couch, satiated and asleep.
We sneak up behind them and on the count of three I rattle the blinds while he wings a jingle ball along the floor.
The cats hit the ceiling.
That’s right, baby. Score one for the humans.
The End
Afterword
Toward the completion of this book my cover and interior layout designer, Robert Howard, suggested it would be a nice touch to include a “family portrait” of my husband, myself, and our two cats at the back of the book.
“Did you read my book?” I asked. “Were there any stories in there that might lead you to believe such an undertaking is even remotely possible?”
“Try anyway,” came the reply. And so, risking life and limb, we did.
You see the results below. We never actually managed to get all four of us in the room at the same time. In a rare show of unity, one cat would distract us while the other made her getaway. After an hour of this we decided one photo each of me with
After a few minutes of the wooden blind death rattle, the kitten appears to have given up. There is silence. We both relax and start to drift back into real sleep.
“Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.” She’s back, having located her jingle ball and nudged it into our bedroom. She is now under our bed, racing in circles as she chases it around.
“Ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching.”
I bite my lip and taste the sweat there. She’s good.
The noise of the jingle ball has brought the cat on the run. She’s constantly afraid we’re playing with the kitten and forgetting to include her. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the kitten playing solo and two lumps still tucked 117 in bed. Unfortunately, seeing us tucked in and comfortable reminds her she’s hungry too, and the cats decide to doubleteam us.
The cat takes over jingle ball duties (ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching), while the kitten hops back up to the blinds. (Rattle rattle. Rattle rattle.)
The bedroom is a cacophony of noise: Ka-ching, rattlerattle, ka-ching, rattle rattle. Ka-ching, rattle, ka-ching, rattle.
I can’t stand it any more. “Shut up!” I yell at the cats.
My husband’s voice comes muffled from under the covers.
“You spoke first. You lose. Go feed them so I can get some sleep.”
I rip the covers off him. I am not in the best of humor in the mornings, especially at five AM.
“You were the one who sat up and put the kitten on the floor so technically you were awake first and you should be the one to get up.”
“If you heard me put the kitten on the floor that means you were awake and just pretending to be asleep, which is a terrible thing to do, so you should be the one to get up.”
“No, you.”
“No, you.”
“Mrow-rowr!!” wail both cats. They pick up the pace.
Ka-ching-rattle, ka-ching-rattle.
I hold my hands over my ears and glare at my husband.
“Get up.”
He pulls the covers up and rolls over. “Eat dirt.”
I lay back down. “If you’re not getting up, I’m not getting up.”
We lie in bed and glare at the ceiling. There is no hope of either of us getting any more sleep.
I turn my head and look at my husband. “Together on the count of three?”
He nods.
“One…”
We roll the covers back.
“Two…”
We both put a foot on the floor and look suspiciously at one another.
“Three!” He stands up and I fling myself back into bed.
Wife - 2, Husband – 0.
An hour later guilt overtakes me and I pad out to the kitchen where he is sitting and put my arms around him, kissing the top of his head.
“How about if I promise to be the one to get up and feed the cats tomorrow?” I ask.
“That’s what you said yesterday.”
I sigh. He’s right. My intentions are good, but when it’s 5 AM and cold and dark outside the warmth of the bed, I know I will once again feign death in the hopes he’ll get up first. And he’ll do the same.
But we are united on one front.
The cats are comatose on the couch, satiated and asleep.
We sneak up behind them and on the count of three I rattle the blinds while he wings a jingle ball along the floor.
The cats hit the ceiling.
That’s right, baby. Score one for the humans.
The End
Afterword
Toward the completion of this book my cover and interior layout designer, Robert Howard, suggested it would be a nice touch to include a “family portrait” of my husband, myself, and our two cats at the back of the book.
“Did you read my book?” I asked. “Were there any stories in there that might lead you to believe such an undertaking is even remotely possible?”
“Try anyway,” came the reply. And so, risking life and limb, we did.
You see the results below. We never actually managed to get all four of us in the room at the same time. In a rare show of unity, one cat would distract us while the other made her getaway. After an hour of this we decided one photo each of me with
Similar Books
